The Hunt

by Jack Arbor

  He shoved his hands into his pockets. “The assignment is simple but won’t be easy. We don’t have much to go on, but what we do have is there. This deal is different than our past engagements. You can’t just kill him. Track him instead. Watch him. Keep a log. Report back. He’s searching for the woman—well, he will be. Shadow him, and when he gets close to her, when he reveals her location, take him out. But not before—and this is important.” Ivanov shook his finger at her. “Not before you learn this woman’s whereabouts.”

  Kira kept her eyes on the file. “Who is she?”

  “The woman’s name is Kate Shaw. Ex-CIA. Went rogue. Apprehended and imprisoned by the CIA. No one knows where she’s imprisoned. The details we know are in the file. It is of the utmost importance that we find this Shaw woman before he does. Before any other intelligence agency does. Before the Russians do. Got it?”

  Kira nodded, still examining the file. “Why? What does she know?”

  Nikita laughed to hide his displeasure. “That’s need to know. Are we clear?”

  The slim assassin snapped the file closed and grabbed her jacket as she walked to the door. “Crystal. Track him. Find her. Kill him.”

  Nine

  Corsica

  The crusty tan-skinned local with the wiry hair brought the old flatbed truck to a halt in a cloud of dust outside the fence and yelled at the men in the rear bed through the cab’s rear window. “As far as I go.”

  Spencer handed the old man a handful of euros through the rear window, who accepted the wad of bills with a sniff. Both men jumped off the tailgate as the driver spun the wheels and roared off, leaving them under a hot orange sun in a swirl of dust.

  A silver fence rose over their heads and coiled razor wire along the top gleamed in the sunlight. Signs warned of the fence’s high-voltage status, and there were security cameras in weatherproof housings at regular intervals along the barrier. Through the fence, rolling dunes covered with a tangle of prickly pear, eucalyptus, juniper, and the occasional wild olive tree dotted the landscape. Behind them, spanning for miles across the center of the island, grew the Corsican thicket, also known as the maquis, filled with a dense thorny forest of hundreds of species of flora. Men were known to get lost for days in the maquis, sometimes emerging with tales of wild cork oaks, sightings of the elusive Corsican Finch, and even discoveries of the remains of former cultures.

  Max eyed the sky and dug out his Blackphone, a device that used custom software designed by Goshawk to encrypt transmissions and prevent tracking. Overhead, a red kite hawk soared, her black-tipped wings spread wide. The elegant bird had white wing feathers, a reddish-brown underbody, and a hooked beak. In a blur, the hawk dove into the maquis thicket before rising to resume her hunt. Next to him, Spencer had his back to Max. They hadn’t talked much since the operation in the Turkish desert.

  Max typed a text message on his phone.

  A few seconds later, the gate whirled to life and creaked sideways.

  As they followed a sandy double-track approaching a squat terra-cotta house, the scurry of pawed feet was followed by a melodic command. The men rounded a corner in the path to see Goshawk’s willowy form standing with her hand resting on the head of a black-and-brown Doberman Pinscher. The dog’s ears were up, and her broad chest heaved, ready to leap. Goshawk bent to whisper something in the dog’s ear, who immediately lost interest in the two intruders.

  Max caught his breath. Damn, she looks good.

  Goshawk offered Max a long hug and pecked Spencer on the cheek before leading them along the path through dense foliage. A moment later the trees parted to reveal waves crashing beyond a set of short dunes, while the azure expanse of the Mediterranean filled the horizon. The salty air was tinged with rosemary and honeysuckle. The Doberman didn’t stray more than a meter from Goshawk’s side as they stepped onto a narrow wooden deck. “Meet Cerberus. She was a gift from Don Paoli.”

  Max grunted. “Cerberus, as in the hound of Hades?”

  “The one and the same.” Goshawk smiled. “She guards the gates of the underworld and prevents the dead from leaving.”

  “Prophetic, I guess.”

  As she led the way through doors hewn from eucalyptus into the cottage, Max followed and Spencer remained outside.

  The interior was cool, dimly lit, and appointed with a colorful mixture of wooden furniture in the Corsican tradition. Max picked out several miniature video cameras, and he knew there were more that evaded the naked eye. “Nice place.”

  Max leaned against the kitchen doorjamb while Goshawk put a kettle on the gas burner. Her previously long coal-black hair was now cut into a tight crew cut and dyed blond. Her long fingers, usually adorned with silver jewelry, were tan and bare, and her nails were unpolished. She wore a pair of short cutoff jean shorts and a gauzy blouse that hid little. Her skin, adorned with an array of tattoos depicting bloody scenes of Japanese samurai battles, was tanned and leathered from the Corsican sun. The quiet Corsican life treated her well.

  Their eyes met as she handed Max a steaming mug of green tea. Were those newly formed wrinkles around her eyes? Wordless comfort passed between them, and he followed her out to the porch where Spencer sat staring at the placid ocean.

  A cane chair crackled when Goshawk settled into it and crossed her legs. Her gaze settled on Spencer as she handed him a mug. “I have news.”

  The old operative’s eyes darted to Goshawk. “About Kate?”

  Goshawk blew into her tea. “They found Bill’s body.”

  Spencer shot to the edge of the seat. “And Kate?”

  She placed a hand on his forearm. “She’s alive. But that’s about all I know.”

  Max squatted next to her chair. “Tell us all you can.”

  She grimaced as she sipped her hot tea. “Bill’s body washed up on the Eastern Shore of the Chesapeake Bay, near a place called Deal Island. His death was ruled an accidental drowning.”

  Spencer made a guttural sound. “Bullshit.”

  Goshawk set her tea on a rickety table. “Agreed, but it’s hard to get more information. The official coroner’s report ruled the death was a drowning. The public files were conspicuously light on details.”

  “And Kate?” Spencer fidgeted.

  “I’ve been digging. I’ve followed trails down rabbit holes that led me through government servers to private servers to anonymous servers and back to government servers. They went to great lengths to hide her location.”

  She lifted her tea cup and blew into it again. “I found her at some kind of CIA black-ops prison. It’s an off-the-books kind of place, buried deep within US military land, disguised by a fake company name and protected with top-level clearances. I doubt the executive branch of the US government even knows the prison exists. With all the drama surrounding Guantanamo, these are where they keep their high-value targets away from the US justice system. And the media.”

  Spencer teetered on the edge of his chair, his eyes focused on Goshawk. “Where is it?”

  Goshawk shook her head. “I don’t know.”

  His face fell. “What else can you tell me?”

  “They’re interrogating her regularly, although from the reports I was able to dig up, they’re not using physical torture. Instead, they’re using isolation, sleep deprivation, noise therapy, and other methods to break her down. I haven’t found any files or records on what they’re learning or her physical condition—”

  “Can I see what you have?” Spencer stood.

  Goshawk glanced at Max, who gave an imperceptible nod. “Sure, hon. Follow me.”

  While Spencer paged through files on her computer, Goshawk sauntered back outside to sit with Max. “Is that your next move? Find Kate?”

  During the multiday overland trip from Iraq to Corsica, designed to throw off any pursuit or surveillance, Max concluded that his next step might be determined by what was contained on the tiny device they found in Spartak’s briefcase. Spencer lobbied hard to attempt Kate’s rescue, but Max had diffi
culty justifying the distraction against determining the true goals of the consortium and ensuring his family’s safety. Max shook his head. “It won’t help keep my family alive.”

  Goshawk ran the tip of her tongue over her bottom lip. “But you love that woman.”

  Max scoffed. “What are you talking about? I barely know her.”

  Goshawk tilted her head. “That didn’t stop us.”

  “Is that what you call it? Love?” Max winked.

  The computer hacker settled back in her chair and peered at him over the rim of her mug. “Call it whatever you want, darling.”

  Max crossed his arms. “Besides, I have—how do they say it? More fish to fry?”

  Goshawk chuckled. “Bigger.”

  “What?”

  “Bigger fish to fry. It means—”

  “I know what it means.”

  Digging in his pocket, Max removed the small device Spencer found in Spartak’s leather bag and held it up for Goshawk to see. He thumbed the on button so the screen lit up with the numeric keypad and PIN field. During their long trip, Max busied himself by attempting various number combinations, hoping to get lucky. The challenge was the PIN field didn’t indicate the number of required digits and allowed Max to enter up to ten numbers, meaning there were ten billion combinations. All he succeeded in doing was to become frustrated. “What is this thing?”

  Goshawk’s eyes lit up as she took it from his hand. “Where did you discover this little gem?”

  Max told her the story about finding the device in Spartak’s case, how the former Russian army major denied knowing about it, and ended with his impression that Spartak was scared when he saw it.

  She flipped the box over in her hand with an impish gleam in her eye. “This is a digital wallet. It’s used for what’s called cold storage of cryptocurrency.”

  “In English, please.”

  Goshawk laughed. “You look like I just spoke to you in Martian.”

  Max shifted in his chair. “Cut the crap. Just tell me what it is.”

  Another laugh. “You’ve heard of bitcoin, right?”

  He knew bitcoin was an electronic currency that was used to pay for things on the internet but didn’t know how it worked. “Yup.”

  “Bitcoin is a cryptocurrency, an electronic way of storing value. People can pay for goods and services with it, if the seller accepts it. There are various mediums of exchange for bitcoin on the internet, both legitimate and nefarious. Problem is, most online storage for bitcoin is terribly insecure. There are stories of people losing millions of dollars of bitcoin to hackers.” Goshawk winked.

  “So, let me guess. This is an off-line storage device, kind of like a bank book?”

  “Sort of,” she said. “It’s more a wallet than a bank book.”

  Max pointed at the box. “If you lose this device, you lose your bitcoin.”

  “That’s right.”

  “Can you break into it?”

  Goshawk fingered the on button and fiddled with the keypad. “Ten-digit key. That’ll take a while.” She rose and padded into the cottage with Cerberus and Max following. “Spencer’s on my main machine, but we can use my laptop.” She tapped a few keys to wake the screen before plugging the device into a USB dongle attached to the computer. She settled into a modern-looking desk chair with her legs curled under her and typed at a speed Max didn’t think was possible. The dog lay at her feet, her eyes tracking Max’s movements. Spencer ignored them both, intent on his reading.

  Max peered over Goshawk’s shoulder, trying to make sense of the string of yellow characters on the black screen. “What are you doing?”

  Goshawk remained riveted on her work until Max gave up and strolled outside along the path to the ocean’s edge. The sapphire water lapped at the amber sand and was clear enough to see through. He was about to pull his Blackphone from his pocket when he sensed someone behind him.

  Goshawk’s arms curled around his waist and spun him in a dance. He almost tumbled into the water but caught himself with a splash. Goshawk twirled away and removed her shirt with a flourish, revealing a smooth back covered with an intricate tattoo of a battle scene in different shades of blacks and reds. She kicked her shorts off into the sand, grabbed Max’s waist, and pulled his pants down to his ankles.

  “What about the—”

  She tugged at his clothes until he was naked under the hot sun. “I’m running an algorithm that will try thousands of combinations every second. It’ll break eventually. Meanwhile…”

  He allowed her to pull him into the warm surf, and once they were a reasonable distance out and onto a sandbar, he pulled her close as she guided him into her warmth.

  Ten

  Corsica

  “Uncle Max!”

  The tow-headed ten-year-old boy on the other side of the video chat jumped up and down, while Max’s sister, Arina Asimov, sat on the couch in the background with a laptop open and a glass of wine. Alex was hunched over his own computer keyboard, face close to the camera, brandishing a wide grin with gaps in his mouth where adult teeth were growing.

  “Hey, bud, how’s it going?” Max lounged in one of Goshawk’s porch chairs with a view of the sand and water, while balancing a laptop on his knee and a coffee mug in his hand. The morning light changed the water to the color of cobalt.

  Alex put his chin in his palms and leaned in to the monitor. “Good. Mom got me a skateboard. Wanna see it?”

  “Of course.”

  When the ten-year-old disappeared from the screen, Arina stood and approached the camera. “Hey, Max. Your face is looking good.”

  “Hey, sis. Thanks. You should have seen the other guy.” He fingered the baggie of white pills in his pocket. “Everything okay?” Things were stilted between them since Arina pulled a disappearing act from the cabin in Colorado where Max hid them before they reappeared in Switzerland cohabitating with Victor Dedov.

  “Yeah. Fine. Alex is finally being homeschooled, so that’s good. He’s doing well in math. Victor brought in a tutor to help out. The history books are different here than in Minsk.”

  “I’ll bet.” Victor was providing a more stable home life for Arina and Alex than he could ever hope to provide. Don’t get too comfortable, sis. “Where is Victor? Is he home?”

  Arina glanced over her shoulder. “No, he’s away on business.” Her voice was faraway.

  “Do you know where he went? I was in the Middle East recently and thought I saw him.”

  Her eyes flashed. “How do I know? He said he was away on business.”

  Alex ran to the screen holding a large wooden skateboard gleaming with varnish. “Victor’s gone a lot,” the boy quipped.

  What else do you know, Alex?

  His mother patted his shoulder. “Shh… Show him your new board.”

  The youngster smiled wide as he held up the skateboard with amber-colored wheels and a black-and-gold logo in the center that read Arbor Groundswell Series.

  Max gave a weak smile. “Wow, sport. That looks like a good one. Have you ridden it yet?”

  Alex crinkled his nose. “Of course.”

  “Okay, don’t forget to wear a helmet. You don’t want to break your noggin.”

  Alex’s eyes got wide. “What’s a noggin?”

  “It’s your head, silly.”

  The boy tugged his ear. “When are you coming to visit?”

  Max smiled. “I don’t know, kiddo. Soon. Okay?”

  “Sure.”

  “Put your Mom back on.”

  Alex yelled for his mother, who had retreated off camera.

  When she reappeared, Max asked, “Do you have a way I can contact Victor?”

  Her eyes narrowed. “Why do you want to—”

  “It’s nothing really. Just some business. Questions about when he and dad worked together. An operation they ran that might have something to do with this consortium thing.”

  She pinched her lip with her fingers.

  Max grinned. “I promise. I’m happy t
hat you and Alex have a place where you’re safe, where Alex can get an education.”

  She crossed her arms. “Don’t mess this up for me, Max.”

  Max held his hands up. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

  She rummaged on a table in the background and returned with a slip of torn paper. “I have an email address. He said he wasn’t carrying a mobile phone.”

  Of course he’s not. Max memorized the email address as she read it off. Based on the random mixture of alphanumeric characters, it sounded like an encrypted email server.

  Arina pursed her lips. “I’m warning you, Max. Don’t screw us.”

  Before Max could reply, the screen went dark.

  Max thought a minute before writing a quick email to Victor using his own encrypted server.

  I heard your recent transaction fell through. I have your olives. I’ll give you a good price.

  He chuckled as he closed the laptop and padded out to the beach where Goshawk sat nude in the shallow water gazing at the horizon.

  “Who’s next on your list?”

  They lay on lounge chairs, letting the bright Corsican sun dry their salt-encrusted bodies. She ran her nails over his back, digging white lines into his dry skin and lingering on each of his three long-healed bullet wounds. Spencer had finished reading the sparse file that Goshawk accumulated on Kate Shaw and left to stroll along the beach.

  Long ago Max memorized the file of the twelve men responsible for killing his mother and father and who put a contract on him, Arina, and Alex. “People tell me that I can’t kill my way out of this problem. I’ve been wracking my brain to come up with a different strategy. So far, I’m drawing a blank.”

  Goshawk dug a nail into his back, drawing blood and causing him to flinch, before tracing a scar on Max’s flank with her finger. “What about number six, Leoniod Petrov? I’ve got a partial file worked up on him.”

  “Isn’t he the head of Rosneft? That gas huge company?”